Have All the Songs Been Written?
by VanillaSpiders
Summary: The living world is no place for a walking dead man. At the very least, Hector mused as he considered his skeletal frame, he could have at least gotten back some flesh or something. Post!movie events.
1. Part I

**See the end for author's notes.**

" _Has every ship gone sailing?  
Has every heart gone blue?  
Have all the songs been written?  
Oh, I just need one to get through to you…" -The killers_

* * *

 **Part I**

Héctor considered the situation.

There was grass below him, some trees over that way, the sky above. And the moon, swollen and one great big opal eye in the night sky. Not a bad view, the musician mused. Certainly pretty, the kind of fresh summer night you'd spend thinking up new music, while you relaxed somewhere with your family.

 _Sí_ , this was all well and good, but the circumstances were a mystery. And worse, the way to fix his problems were also a mystery.

After all, a skeleton standing in a graveyard in the middle of the night was bound to set off a few superstitious folk.

The Land of the Living was just no place for a walking dead man. At the very least, Héctor mused to himself as he looked over his skeletal frame, whatever Great and Terrible power brought him back here could have _at least_ had the foresight to put some skin or organs back on him. No dice, though. Shame.

The wind blew, a unfamiliar sensation to the man. It blew through his hair, the remains of his clothes, and the hollows of his frame. Yes, it was a nice night to be here, but Héctor didn't think he was supposed to be here, and at any rate, he missed his family already.

Ah, _familia_. Now, that single word gave him an idea, and Héctor tilted his skull at the plan forming like spider webs in his head. He was not a man to be kept down, not in Life nor certainly not in Death.

Héctor sighed-at least, he _mimicked_ a sigh-and took another look at his surroundings. Was anything familiar to him? That was important to his plan. Grass, trees, oh, some more headstones…

Vaguely?

It had been a year almost since his first trip here on Day of the Dead. Thinking back, he chided himself for not taking more care to commit the sights he saw to memory. Imelda would have. But then, Imelda did a great many things Héctor wished he could have done. And, Héctor comforted himself with a sheepish grimace, he _was_ too busy trying to stare into the faces of all his family, all young and warm and lively. It had been a wonderful night, but a whirlwind of one. Still…

If Héctor was being frank with himself, there was a Pull. Over this way, to the South, he thought. It wasn't like a strain, it didn't feel painful. It was a simple, coaxing suggestion that seemed to vibrate from the marrow of his bones. _This way_ , it whispered to him. As a general rule Héctor liked relying on his gut. The fact it was long gone was irrelevant.

So, that way he would go. It was a good a plan as any, and staying here certainly wasn't getting him home anytime soon.

Héctor lurched forward, his body creaking like the branches of the tree he walked under. His limp was gone, but his frame moved about as well as one could expect in the Land of the Living. He did not tire-no muscles to strain, you know-and he did not lose breath. No lungs to inflate and deflate.

He walked on all night, tirelessly. Only the moon's eye saw him, but it had no mouth and said nothing.

By the time Héctor started seeing bits and pieces of the village he could recognize, the moon was dusting over the mountains in the west. It was getting harder to find good, dark shadows to stick too. Last thing he needed was scaring some poor old abuelita into an early grave! And, since he wasn't sure yet if he could be seen or not seen, he didn't feel like risking it. He liked gambling well enough, but with cards and dice!

Héctor paused mid step by a stack of barrels, spotting the doors he knows he had walked through once before. His face light up, eyes brightening in his eye sockets.

He moved slower now, stopping at the locked doors of the compound. The shoemaker's homes were a tight knit cluster of modest houses, that had sprouted up over generations upon generations. If Héctor closed his eyes, he could remember before these walls, when it was one little two room house, when it was him and a young, fiery woman and he could come and go as he pleased.

Things had changed, but Héctor would be lying if there wasn't something bone-deep satisfying about _finally_ being able to come back. Even if his way of getting in was far from what the Living would consider normal.

The Pull in his chest was insistent as ever, he was certain it was leading him to his spot on the _Ofrenda_. Where else would be so important to him after all? Skeleton or not, he felt like a Ghost here, and Ghosts had a way of becoming attached to things in an effort to remain Remembered.

Without a second thought, he wrenched off his left arm and tossed it over the tall doors. The hand moved by its own, fumbling along the wall until the bone scraped wood. Then the fingers scrambled up, found the lock and quickly managed to open it.

As Héctor pushed one door open, just enough for his scarecrow frame to slip in, he thought giddily to himself how well this was going.

It was about the same time he heard a high pitched shriek of terror.

Héctor froze, headlight wide eyes rolling in their sockets toward the direction of the scream behind him. It was not, as he feared, a little old lady. But a young child in the window of their home, no more than six or so, who was making the racket. When the child saw the skeleton man had responded to his cry by looking at him, the kid started a screech of terror.

Well, this confirmed his question about whether or not he could be seen.

Héctor scrambled, already hearing footsteps coming to the child's aid, lights flickering on, voices starting up. Families were protective of their bambinos, as they rightly should be. That didn't stop Héctor from dashing into the compound, almost forgetting to rehitch his own arm on, before he scrambled into the first good hiding spot his panicked mind could find.

The door of the compound swung shut, though the lock remained open. He would have to relock it if he didn't want to scare anyone else, especially if they all were on the lookout for a thief.

Unfortunately, this was an easier thought then action. The frightened child didn't quiet for a while, and by the time Héctor felt safe enough to move, the moon was gone and the sky was a dusty blue. The world seemed to lighten by the minute.

 _Sunrise_ , his memory told him. Héctor grinded his teeth in worry, wishing he still had fingernails to chew on. Worse of all, his descendants were apparently all of early risers. Already he heard a small amount of hustle and bustle begin to blossom up. The neighbor child must have been assured of a nightmare, for no one came to check on the Rivera's doors that the skeleton man was seeing stalking through. Another bout of good luck, and Héctor thanked anyone above who was listening for it. He detached just his hand this time, and sent it scuttling like a spider on all fingers toward the door. As soon as it was locked, Héctor started moving, not waiting for his own hand to catch up. It did a moment later, and he twisted the palm into his wrist like one would screw a bottle cap on.

He slipped from hiding spot to hiding spot, trying desperately to muffle the clack of his feet on the cobblestones. The Pull was growing stronger with every step, telling him he was at least going in the right direction. At the same time as he realized he had a bit of tunnel vision, he also knew he could not stop himself now if he wanted to. _Dios mío_ his was an odd sensation! It was like he had no control over his own body!

The joint had certainly changed over the last several decades, that much could be said. Unlike the Land of the Dead, where everything went up, the Land of Living was where you sprawled out. The Rivera's homes were clustered together like little school children, the biggest building belongs to what he could only guess as the shoemaker family's factory. That wasn't where he was being drawn, though. (And why would he?! He was a musician, not a shoemaker! He loved his family, he did not love shoes,) No, Héctor was more certain than ever he was being drawn to his spot on the _Ofrenda_. The frantic, almost overwhelming urge to get to it made his steps faster and his eyes seemed overbright.

He didn't stop to consider he was lost.

He didn't think about how he was a walking deadman in a world with the Living, who apparently could see him.

He didn't consider that this was not the way to the _Ofrenda_ at all, in fact.

But that last part couldn't really be Héctor's fault, all things considered. He certainly didn't live here anymore. How was he supposed to know he was pushing open the door to a child's bedroom?

Héctor froze, saucer wide eyes fixed on the groggy teen as he rose up from his bed. Héctor's ivory-white guitar sat by the bedside, but the skeleton man only had eyes for his grandson, his bony face lighting up in affection and joy. Miguel himself only noticed the creak of his door, and his face was that of tired resignation, as if he were expecting a (living) elder who was coming to see that he was awake. Imagine his surprise then, when all he saw was a skeletal figure in familiar torn clothes looking lost but with dawning delight on his bare bones.

" _Papa Héctor!?"_

* * *

 **While I'm mostly Mexican (as in, my father-absolutely-looked-like-the-guy-on-the-salsa-bottle-Mexican) I sadly don't speak enough Spanish. I mean, I can still remember enough to make sure I had the correct version of** **Sí** **but regardless, I'm certainly not fluent. (A huge source of frustration and embarrassment, trust me.) So if there's anything to fix in here, lemme know, yeah? Otherwise, I have found a new sandbox to play in. What a wonderful movie Coco was.**


	2. Part II

**See the end for author's notes.**

" _Have all the songs been written?  
Have all your needs been met?  
Have all these years been worth it  
Or am I…the great regret?"_

* * *

 **Part II**

All worry and confusion left Héctor like a snap of a maraca. Seeing your favorite relative (the one who saved your miserable After Life) will have that effect on a _hombre!_ Drinking in the overwhelmingly relaxing scene of the boy in his bed _alive_ _and breathing_ made Héctor beam back at Miguel's stunned face. He quickly sidled in, shutting the door softly behind him with a creak.

"Miguel!" The skeleton man was so happy he didn't even bother with one of the boy's many nicknames of endearment; he just threw out his lanky arms excitedly. The second the teen saw this, he scrambled out from under his blanket and bolted toward Héctor like someone had lit a match under the little guy.

"What are you _doing_ here?" The kid squeaked, even as he flung into his dead grandpa's arms and hugged him greedily tight. After all, the last time he had seen Héctor, he was inches from Final Death and Miguel never really got solid proof he had helped the man. Sure, the photo was a good indicator, and Mama Coco told them all so many stories, but deep down, Miguel had wondered if it was really enough. When the nights were pitch black because the moon was hiding, it was easy to fear the worst. He often remembered the way Hector looked when he described Final Death to him. How empty and powerful it sounded, how it was impossible to return from. Miguel had feared the worst then. That the relative who had the love of music in his soul like Miguel did was long gone and he'd never ever see him again—

Except Héctor did live. (Well, _sort of_ …) Not only that, he was in the Land of the Living, for some strange and wonderful reason!

"You're alive," Miguel gasped out, still hugging the scarecrow man like a little limpet. It would be unmanly to cry, but the teen had no other way to express his relief over such a realization. Héctor had helped him, had taught him about the music, had even protected him from his would-be killer and let Miguel hate him briefly before the boy found out the truth.

Héctor laughed in return, but it was a light, fond chuckle as he pried the kid from his hip bones. He bent to see the kid better, taking in all his little changes over the year. Miguel had grown a bit! Briefly Héctor wondered if the boy would inherit his towering height, because it seemed to be kicking in now.

"Well, I dunno about _alive_ , ey _gordito_?" Héctor teased, pointing at his exposed ribcage to remind his little descendant how unAlive he truly was.

"But I'll take it, especially if it means getting to see you again! I've missed you, Miguel." Héctor loved his whole family, adored his baby _hija_ (for she would _always_ be his baby girl, no matter how much older she was than her father) but his time with Miguel had cemented the kid in Héctor's heart right beside dear Coco.

Miguel went red, but found he couldn't hold tight to any teenage mannerisms that wanted him to act tough and stand offish. Besides, it was likely that if he did, Héctor would tease him about that, too. Any lingering embarrassment at Héctor's affections was washed away by the flood of relief at knowing he hadn't failed Mama Coco or Héctor. Or even Imelda.

"But—but how? Papa Héctor, I thought the Dead couldn't—you know, unless it was _Dia de los Muertos_ and…" Miguel fumbled, then quickly glanced at the little calendar by his desk.

"…it's not." For a second, he feared he had lost track of the months!

"Sharp as ever, _chapaco_. You're four months off." Héctor jabbed playfully again, his smile stretching when the kid shot him a pouty look.

"I dunno how I ended up here." Héctor shrugged lazily. "One minute I was running from your Mamma Imelda for eating the last of her _dulce del leche_ , next, poof! I was near the graves under the moon. Not a _Cempasuchil_ petal in sight, might I add."

"Weird." Miguel breathed, studying the skeleton man. No clues there, either. Héctor was solid, his bones creaked when he moved and his eyes were bright and lively. If it weren't for the fact Miguel was certain he was awake, he would fear that it was he who was in the Land of Dead again, and not the roles reversed.

"Very weird." Héctor agreed with a hum, but he was wandering Miguel's room now.

Héctor considered his next words, speaking carefully as he admitted, "Uh, not that I have the _best_ memory in the Rivera clan. But that's what I'm pretty sure what happened. I made my way here; I thought I was going to my _ofrenda_ , but I guess not because I…"

He stopped, staring at the kid's desk. It was a normal boy's desk alright, cluttered and messy. Music sheets were stacked with only mild attempt at organization. A plate with half a sandwich was to the other side. The pencils weren't in the cup holder, but there was a knife, a ruler and what looked like half a feather stuffed in the cup. That all wasn't what made Héctor pause in soft surprise. It was the photo behind the glass, a little portrait and a small white candle with two _Cempasuchil_ petals sitting innocently before it. Héctor's human face smiled back at him from behind the glass.

"Miguel…" Héctor breathed. "What's this, ey?" He tried to act casual, but the emotion was making his voice heavy and his eyes shiny. He knew damn well what it was, but part of him wanted to hear Miguel say it. Hell, all of him wanted to hear Miguel say it.

"Oh, well, it's just…a little something…" Miguel trailed off, coughing nervously.

"You keep my picture here?" Héctor asked with an arch of his brow.

" _One_ of them." Miguel corrected quickly, "Mama Coco had this one with your letters, when we found them she…she said I could have it. You still have the ripped photo on the _ofrenda_ next to Mamma Imelda, but…" The kid shrugged, rubbing his shoulder and trying to act casual.

"I was just…worried. I thought one more couldn't hurt. Just in case."

Héctor shot the kid a soft, loving look.

"Hey, thanks, _chapaco_. No, really. You gotta know how thoughtful this is for me, for the longest time I…"

For the longest time, he was No One. A man without a Family. Without Hope. One spot on the Rivera's _ofrenda_ at all was Héctor's dream for years upon years. Over centuries.

A second one constructed by his own grandson? A bone-warming _blessing_.

Now, Héctor understood why he was drawn here. Yes, the family _ofrenda_ was wonderful. But _this_ was the one that received the most attention, weather Miguel meant to or not. No wonder Héctor felt stronger lately in the Land of the Dead. Considering how long he lasted on poor Coco's failing memory alone…

"For the longest time it was just me." Héctor finished his sentence gently, going for delicate. The crushing heartbreak and desperation Héctor felt while his family ignored him was something he hoped Miguel would never have to endure. Héctor couldn't protect himself. Not from De La Cruz, not from his own blinding lust for Fame, and not from the Final Death. But he could protect Miguel from that.

"Right." Miguel, unaware of the skeleton's man thoughts, nodded. "And, and sometimes when I can't think of anything to compose, I look at your picture and try to think what you would do…"

"And?" Héctor coaxed when the boy went silent. "What do you think I would do, _chapaco_?"

"Oh, well. Sometimes I keep writing…but most times I go play with my cousins, or talk to my dad." They both knew what he meant.

' _When I get stuck on my music, I go to my family.'_

Héctor smiled proudly. The kid had learned the lessons Héctor had tried to learn much too late. It's relieving, as much as it sobering for the skeleton man.

"Anyway, this is a nice little spot you've got here, _muchacho_. Pretty clean for a kid your age…"

His eyes swept the room again, and this time almost immediately they landed on—

"My Camila!" The skeleton crowed happily, quickly sweeping up the pearl-white guitar that was propped by Miguel's bed.

"Cam—who?" Miguel blinked, walking over to see for himself. His lips curled into a smile as he watched Héctor's fingers deftly strum the guitar's strings, and then immediately make adjustments in her tune. Héctor moved as one puts on clothes, the actions so deep in his mind he didn't need to look at the strings he was subtly tightening.

"My dear Camila," Héctor sighed, the same tone he addressed Imelda in when she allowed him to be flowery and sweet. " _Chapaco_ , you've taken such good care of her! Ah, how she sings!" His bony fingers were flitting the guitar's chords, testing each one.

"I never knew your guitar had a name," Miguel said happily, hopping back onto his bed. Héctor sat beside him, still treating the boy to some music.

"De La Cruz always mocked me for it, but then, for a man to treat people how he did? And he's going to lecture me on naming my guitar?" Héctor snorted sarcastically, but merely rolled his eyes. His features softened as he went on, lost in the memories.

"Your Mama Imelda gave her to me, you know. She even said she liked the name."

"I didn't know that either," Miguel brightened up at hearing the family matriarch's softer side. "So you took Camila with you on your trips?"

"Of course! Y'know, it made me miss my family a little less, knowing I had Camila with me when I was lonely. Musicians sing and write music, but our instruments _make_ the music when we can't, ey Miguel? Camila sings almost as well as your Mamma Imelda." Héctor chuckled, finally slowing his playing.

Miguel simply sat and listened, smile relaxed. He was content to spend the day doing nothing but listen to his grandfather's stories and to have his guitar sing to them.

It was of course, at this moment, a knock came at his door.

"Miguel? You're going to be late for school—is everything alright in there?"

And then, horrifyingly, the knob began to turn…

* * *

 **A disclaimer; I have no idea if** _ **ofrendas**_ **are allowed in bedrooms. I searched on google for an answer, but only found out how they are constructed. (In truth, Miguel's small** _ **ofrenda**_ **to** **Héctor is very unofficial, having just one candle and some marigold petals.) But I needed a reason for Hector to be drawn toward Miguel's room, and it seemed likely that (as long as it's not forbidden!) Miguel would put** _ **something**_ **small up for** **Héctor** **, especially if he's afraid one** _ **ofrenda**_ **isn't enough.**

 **Also,** **according to the wiki, Héctor's guitar was "a gift from a wife…" which just hurts that much more. I wonder what Héctor grieved most all those decades alone. Was it losing his dearest possession from his wife or the songbook which held the lyrics he had sent to Coco while he traveled?**


	3. Part III

**See the end for author's notes.**

" _Has every ship gone sailing?  
Has every heart gone blue?  
Have all the songs been written?  
Oh, I just need one to get through to you…"_

* * *

 **Part III**

Héctor shot his distant relative a frightened, questioning look.

"That's Mama," Miguel hissed softly, "We have to hide you!"

" _Ay, chamaco_ —but, uh, _where_?" Héctor looked around, unconvinced of any actual hiding places. Under the bed? About a good idea as in it! Besides, he was doubtful his feet wouldn't stick out. He darted toward the window but soon scratched that idea out too.

"Ah, uh, quick!" Miguel started ushering the dead man into his small, modest closet.

Héctor resisted at first. Or, he tried to. But soon he found himself sandwiched into the tight, tall space. It was about as wide as himself, no doubt because there was another closet in the room next to Miguel's. The Rivera's seemed to live comfortably, so why couldn't they afford a bigger closet?! Héctor shot a deadpan glare at the door as Miguel closed him in. Well this wasn't entirely going to plan. The fact he didn't have one originally was besides the point.

Inclining his skull and lifting his straw hat allowed Héctor to hear some of the conversation going on outside. He didn't hear the door open but did hear someone walking softly into it. The woman's voice was plenty loving and amused.

" _Cariño_ _,_ what are you doing in here? You're not even dressed yet! Hurry, hurry, _abuelita_ has almost finished breakfast!"

" _Sí_ , Mama, I'm sorry," Miguel could be heard squeaking. "I was just practicing, I, I couldn't sleep!"

"Mhm…and who were you talking to?"

"Uh, Dante?"

"You know how your _abuelita_ feels about Dante in the house, c _ariño."_

"I know, that's why I got him out of here when you came in. I'm sorry!"

Héctor racked his skull for his family tree as the two talked. The grandmother to Miguel would be…why, _por supuesto_! Coco's daughter! Elena, wasn't it? Why, she would be his _granddaughter_! Héctor wanted to meet her immediately, hug her and have her tell him her whole life, all he had missed and hadn't gotten to see. He wanted to apologize too, if she'd let him…

It took all Héctor's self-control to not burst from the closet right there—but he refrained, somehow. Bone fingers clenched the knob, but he was careful not to rattle it or turn it. He waited for Miguel's mother (his _great_ -granddaughter! _Ay caramba_ , what a wonderful family he had to meet!) to leave. And now he could see them all in the flesh! If this _was_ a Curse of some kind, he might gladly live his Afterlife cursed. So far it felt like a wonderful dream, though he did worry about his family back in the Land of the Dead. Well, he wasn't _too_ worried about Imelda, she could certainly hold her own. She was probably relishing the freedom she had now without Héctor following her around like the love-struck puppy he still was.

The door opened suddenly, letting in the shafts of morning light and making Héctor blink to adjust his eyes. Mama was gone, and the door was shut once more.

"Okay, you can come out now." Miguel was keeping his voice much lower, as if he feared his Mama was just outside the door listening in.

"I can't wait to meet the rest of our family!" Héctor said, almost forgetting to speak in a hushed, if excited whisper. He bent down so Miguel could hear him better, lurching his skeletal frame from the closet. Miguel fetched his hoodie from where it was smashed into the wall from Héctor's frame and quickly hauled it on.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Papa Héctor," Miguel muttered with a wince.

"Ey? Why not, _chamaco_? I'm here aren't I? You can see me, can't you? I'll bet they can too!" He grabbed Camila once more, slinging the strap round his back. The familiar weight of his guitar was comforting, and it brought back some memories that he quickly pushed away. He didn't want to deal with them just yet—but he also wanted his trusty guitar when he met the family. He hoped Miguel didn't mind, and from the look on the kid's face, he didn't seem to. Héctor bet he just wanted to hear more music.

"Weeelll, for one thing, I'm not sure you _won't_ scare anyone." Miguel saw Héctor's confused, hurt little frown and quickly rambled on.

"N-not that you're scary! It's just—you're a skeleton…and you're tall, and I'm just not sure you wanna meet _abuelita_ just yet—"

"Ey, Miguel, you worry too much! I'll bet I look just like a _calaca_ , right?" He struck a cheerful, open armed pose, smiling down at the kid.

"I guess you do…" Miguel rubbed the back of his neck, "Just, just try and wait until after I get home from school, okay Papa?"

Héctor's charming smile dropped, but he would be lying if hearing Miguel call him that didn't weaken his resolve, and want to give the kid whatever it was Miguel wanted. It was the same warm blossoming feeling in his ribcage he got when Coco called him that, and he couldn't help but offer a reassuring smile at the kid. Imelda always warned him about spoiling baby Coco too much, but thankfully being dirt poor kept a lot of his lavishing in check.

" _Ay_ _gordito_ , if that's what you wanna do. We'll do it your way." Héctor promised, resting his bony hands on his hips.

"Thank you," Miguel breathed, shoulder slumping in relief. "I'll be home around two, then we can figure out how to introduce you without, uh, y'know."

"Anyone screaming?" Héctor snorted in amusement. He wandered back to the kid's desk and dropped gracelessly into the seat, hauling Camila round to his lap.

"Or throwing their _chancla_ at you. _Abuelita_ can aim to kill. Just make sure no one hears you playing either!" Miguel warned as he searched about for his sneakers.

Héctor paused, but chuckled as he twanged Camila's strings softly. "Well, she got that from your Mama Imelda, and trust me. I can dodge her swings plenty. Good to know it's hereditary."

That did make Miguel lighten up and laugh a little. He finished sweeping his homework into his backpack and started for the door. He paused before the frame though, and Héctor noticed.

"Alright there, _gordito_?" The skeleton called, furrowing his brow as Miguel turned and raced back to him. But Miguel only tackled Héctor in a quick, brief hug.

"See you later, Papa Héctor," Miguel muttered shyly, and Héctor understood.

"I'll be here when you get back, _chamaco_. Really." That was important for the kid to remember, Héctor could tell. Miguel must have been really spooked that Héctor had gone through Final Death, it seemed…

"You really do worry too much…" The whole family—the whole _world_ it felt like—was remembering Héctor now. He was solid as ever, even if he wasn't in the Land of the Dead like he was supposed to be.

"Fill that lil _cabeza_ a'yours up with lots of learnin." Héctor told the kid as Miguel pulled back, giving him a wet snort.

" _Sí_ Papa Héctor, bye,"

" _Adiós_ , _gordito_ ," Héctor said fondly as the door closed. There was no lock of course, but Héctor made sure Miguel's closet door was wide open. If anyone came in (unlikely, he assumed, as Miguel hadn't warned him) then he could easily make it to the closet before anyone spotted him. Héctor strummed his guitar a bit, mulling over what on earth he was going to do for the next nine hours.

He couldn't hear much of the hustle and bustle of the Rivera homestead, but he could hear outside into the compound well enough. Breakfast seemed to be over all at once, and Héctor could hear young voices fading off as the children headed out the big doors to the school in town. That left only the adults, and Héctor looked around Miguel's room, partly for something to play with that wouldn't cause so much noise, and partly from interest.

Héctor could hear the sounds of shoes being made, and decided one of the many buildings he slunk past this morning must have been the workshop.

A quick nap put the sun high above them, so that when the skeleton man peeked out again, he could hardly see the shadows on the dry, barren ground. It was high noon, most likely, but that left two hours still for Héctor to kill. He gave a groan of frustration, pacing the room lazily until a new noise caught his attention.

"…going to put her down for a nap, she just won't sleep in the shop with all the noise…" it was the same voice Héctor heard earlier.

"Good idea, _mi corazón,"_ came a deeper, and much more distant sounding voice. Héctor could picture that this man, likely a husband, was down the hall.

Then Héctor could hear Miguel's mother passing the door, cooing and shushing the sounds of a fussing _bambino_. A door opened, then closed. Ten minutes later the crying had stopped, and the door opened and closed again, softly.

By all accounts, her plan seemed to have worked. Héctor had just sat back down on Miguel's bed to continue his siesta when he picked up the soft disturbances of one distressed little child. Héctor was sure Miguel's mother would be back to check on the little thing sooner rather than later, or someone else in the family would.

But everyone was clearly busy in the workshop, perhaps no one could get away quickly?

The crying stayed gentle and weak, as if the child had no real heart in it, or perhaps was simply overtired. Now, Héctor was sure no one would hear the little thing. And he couldn't stand to hear that crying, it was breaking his heart...well, metaphorically speaking.

Daringly, Héctor peeked outside of Miguel's room. He tiptoed his way down the hall.

* * *

 **While the chapters aren't necessarily long, there's going to be a good handful. I think nine or ten, if I can manage it. Hopefully ten, because I like round numbers. I forgot to do this last time, but a HUGE thank you to the wonderful reviews I've gotten so far! They're very much appreciated and cherished!** **  
**


	4. Part IV

**See the end for author's notes.**

" _I just need one more to get through to you,  
I can't take back what I've done wrong,_ _  
_ _I just need one more…"_

* * *

 **Part IV**

The bedroom next to Miguel's was modest but fresh. He had no nose, but as soon as he saw the lilacs in the vase on the window sill, his brain kicked a neuron in gear and he was reminded instantly of the scent of the flower. The lace décor and accents of soft pink and creamy yellows promised Héctor his earlier assumption was right. It was a little girl's room, and he recognized the crib instantly. Héctor shut the door as soundlessly as a mouse's cough in church, unable to take his eyes off the slender little crib.

He knew that crib after all. He remembered it well because it had taken two months and twenty-one splinters to build.

He never _was_ good with his hands unless it came to guitars, cards, or women.

That crib though, despite having a different coat of paint, was plain as the bones of his frame and still somehow managed to look a little fancy. For its age, it was holding up well. Considering how old it and Héctor were, he was impressed. Imelda had actually said it was 'rather nice' when Héctor had hauled it in to show her. Which Héctor knew meant she loved it. And he assumed Coco liked it when she was a babe and used it—she never told him otherwise.

The little infant's name was Sorcorro, and though Héctor knew she was young and upset, he did not know her name. Still, family is a strong bond, and his ribcage ached where his heart used to hang at her meek dismal crying. _Dios mio_ , such tears! Coco was not much a crier, but she was such a somber little thing, just like her wonderful mama.

Héctor closed his eyes…and he _remembered._

 _When Coco was born, she did not smile. Oh, she cuddled, she clutched her mama's hair, and she made the usual baby noises. She was, by all accounts, happy and healthy and bright. Héctor fretted, Imelda told him to settle. But little Coco's face was so set and so serious, Héctor couldn't help but wonder if Coco was ever happy with him. After all, in the photo that the three of them took, Héctor was the only one smiling._

 _She was two weeks old when she smiled for the first time, and it was when her papa ran his fingers down the chords of Camila. Baby Coco had turned her little head at the sound, her eyes went wide…and she had given him the smallest of smiles._

 _Her first smile…it was at her Papa. It was because of his music._

He was beside it before he was aware of crossing the room, running his hand lovingly over the frame as he remembered how small and cute his daughter looked in it when she slept.

The whimpering and sniffling brought him back to the present, and he blinked in surprise before looking down.

"But we're not doing much sleeping right now are we, _bebita_?" Héctor asked the fussing baby fondly. She was so very young, her heart shaped face all scrunched up in irritation and small hands wriggling against her stomach. Little apple slice cheeks were flushed and the tears were bubbling freely, all the world's problems in this small mind was apparently enough to keep her up and grouchy as a jaguar with a toothache.

Héctor let himself chuckle at this little display of righteousness (and tiny) fury at her discomfort.

"Come on now, _fácil, fácil ey_?" Héctor murmured, reaching into the crib on automatic and stroking her little mop of black hair from her eyes. This cause her to look up (and up and up) at him, and for a moment he worried he would scare her, as Miguel had worried this morning—

But she was far too young. With a watery hiccup she whined and stretched out her arms. They were about a quarter the length of his own, latching into his ulna and tugged with all her little might. Héctor dropped his whole long arm closer to her like she apparently wanted, but the crying still continued stubbornly.

"Well, we aren't shy either, are we, my little _bonita_?" Utterly and hopelessly charmed at this point, Héctor gently freed himself and couldn't help scooping his granddaughter up. It was a bit of a challenge, balancing her bundle of a body on his skeleton arms, but he managed it. He didn't rock or bounce her, instead focused on keeping her against his slated ribcage, up near his clavicle. She whined about this, of course, whatever had caused her crying was still bothering her and she seemed to be intent on making sure he knew how miserable she was. He cooed over her sympathetically, letting her press a small, inquisitive palm to his cheekbone, one finger almost in his nasal cavity and the other inspecting the shine of his gold tooth. Her crying had weakened, now a mere afterthought as she tried to reach for the straw of his hat.

"You have your brother's eyes, _cariña,"_ The dead musician whispered to her, eyes drooping in love and admiration as he watched this small life explore his skeletal features so matter-of-factly.

Remembering Miguel's own boldness against De La Cruz and noting the similarities in bravery, Héctor added on with a slow smile, "And his spirit."

She wriggled in response, then hiccupped plaintively. Her hand found one of his long fingers, and without much fanfare, into her mouth it went. Héctor considered this for a moment, letting her gum the bone as he noted now what the endless fussing must mean.

"Ahhh-hah, the teething phase. Poor _niña,_ I would cry too!" She went on, unhindered, as Héctor stood there. He was patient as the grave, but soon a new idea sparked in his mind. Of course! He knew just what to do—provided he could free his hand from the little mouth that is.

" _Ay_ , let go small one, and let Papa Héctor show you how he soothed his Coco of her pain when she was your age," Once settled back in her crib—and there was much fussing about that too—Héctor straightened up and swung Camila round to his front. Baby Sorcorro saw this and paused mid cry, trying to consider if this action was something more important than her earlier woes.

"After all, _bonita_ ," his fingers trailed lazily along the strings like waltzing spiders, "music soothes the savage toothache, no?"

Sorcorro burbled softly in response. Her eyes were locked on his movements, causing a good distraction as she watched…and as she listened. At the first strum of notes, the baby shifted on muscle memory. Her big brother made a sound like this, and it always provided comfort and warmth. Sorcorro now gave Héctor her full attention as a reward.

" _Come, let's sing a little lullaby…nanita ella, nanita ella,"_ Héctor adjusted his arms, leaning over the crib's opening better and keeping his voice low and warm. _"Mi niña tiene sueño, bendito sea, bendito sea…"_

At first, Sorcorro was not immensely impressed, as this was _not_ her big brother's voice. She told him so, by way of gurgles, but hesitated as Héctor sang on. Héctor himself was undeterred. And gradually, as he hit the second verse and kept his tone even and lulling, the music began to work its magic. She gave one mighty, defiant yawn…

" _Fuentecita que corre, Clara y Sonora…Ruiseñor que en la selva…Cantando y llora  
Calla mientras la cuna…"_ The skeleton's smile grew as he watched those big brown eyes grow heavier with each blink. The crease in her brow was fading, and her wriggling was lessening.

" _Se balancea…Come, let's sing a little lullaby…let's sing…"_

Héctor stared down at his sleeping granddaughter, and smiled gently.

" _Dulces sueños_ , _cariña._ Remember _,_ your Papa Héctor loves you very much…" Héctor inched backwards out of the room, clutching his guitar and not daring to put it back until he was sure his movements wouldn't wake the sleeping infant.

The reality of what had happened did not strike Héctor until he was back in Miguel's room, staring at his _ofrenda_ with a lost expression. Then, all at once it flooded over him, a sensation so dizzying and intense his lean frame rocked as if the wind had pushed him. The skeleton stumbled forward and gripped the edge of the desk, ribcage heaving as if he'd run a mile. Or as if he had lungs that still needed to heave, anyway. He and Coco had reunited in the Land of the Dead, and it was a wonderful time for him, but this…

He had gotten to _sing_.

He had gotten to _sing for his familia_.

For one his daughter one more time. Great-granddaughter or not, that shining little _cariña_ in that room was his family, and he adored her already. He couldn't get to see her grow up, but he had gotten to tell her how much he loved her. He hoped her life was _spectacular_.

This is what he wanted to do all along.

Yet…was this why he had come back?

Héctor looked down at himself, noticing he had laid a hand over where his heart used to be.

No. It wasn't.

Somewhere, a crow cawed. The workshop was still bustling off to the south. Around Héctor, the world moved on.

Something _else_ was at work here. And while all the things that had happened so far were wonderful, he had a strange, ominous feeling. Something was going to happen. It was the same feeling as when the music picked up, when the last verse came. It was the same feeling when a guitar string is tuned…just a fraction farther than it should be…that frightening, heart-pounding moment just _before_ a guitar string pulled too taught…snaps.

A terrible thing, after all. To die alone and dishonored. It had happened to Héctor. He hadn't lived through it, but he had _survived_ it. Living and Surviving were two different things, but at the end of the day, Héctor was still 'here.' Miguel had saved him from Final Death, Coco remembered him, and even De La Cruz got what was coming to him…

Yes. By all accounts, his song had ended a while ago.

What else was there?

"This ain't good, amigo…" Héctor muttered to his living face on Miguel's desk. He asked for Coco to _remember him_ …

So what was it _he_ had forgotten this time?

* * *

 **Clever Reader, you've probably noticed by now, but the song has been chosen for lots of symbolism and parallels to Héctor and his life. (Not just because I've had a musical hard-on for the killers since I was in the 7** **th** **grade.)** **Certainly in this part, where it mentions "I can't take back what I've done wrong," happens to head the same chapter Héctor sings to baby Sorcorro, like he longed to do for Coco one more time.**

 **The lead singer for the killers, Brandon Flower, once wrote a despondent email to a colleague, asking him how he coped with feeling creatively drained. The email was headed** _ **Have All the Songs Been Written?**_ **The colleague answered with an interesting response. "Why don't you start there? That's a great title." I liked the sound of that story, so I started with it too. The lullaby 'A La Nanita Nana' can be found on youtube easily. Until next time, my friend.  
**


	5. Part V

**See the end for author's notes.**

" _When the train returns to the rails,_ _  
_ _When the ship is back in the harbor,_ _  
_ _I will make you happy again,_ _  
_ _I can see it, I believe it…"_

* * *

 **Part V**

By the time Miguel arrived home, Héctor felt ready to leap out the door and rush out into the open. As it was he'd spent the better part of an hour pacing. He felt like one of those beads trapped in a maraca! But then, Héctor had never done well with closed-in spaces, not in Life and it seemed not even in Death. He supposed, sourly, he was lucky he had woken up in the Land of the Dead and not in a grave in the earth. He'd had no grave, as a body found on the street was given a pauper's burial and nothing fancy.

And having sat here with his thoughts since he sung his granddaughter to sleep, he was more flighty than usual.

"So what now _chamaco_? To the plaza to play? Dinner with _la_ _familia_? Oh! Or we could—"

"Papa Héctor!" Miguel laughed as the skeleton rambled on eagerly about all the things they could do.

"Let me set my bag down first, I just got home."

"Kid I've been here _all day_ by myself, I'm going up a wall!" Héctor whined, then went on sheepishly. "There must be someone I can meet in the family…besides your sister."

"I'm not sure about—wait, my sister?" Miguel turned, giving Héctor a stern look. "You left the room? You met Sorcorro?"

"Ahh… _Sí_." Héctor winced, "Just for a little bit though! No more than a minute."

Miguel arched a brow, able to tell now when Héctor was stretching the truth.

"Well, long enough to play her a song." Héctor ran to his own defense, throwing his bone arms out.

"She couldn't sleep, _chamaco_! The poor thing was crying so, it broke my heart!" Miguel looked at the hollow ribcage of the skeleton. Héctor looked too, then defended.

" _Ay_ , you know what I mean, _gordito_! What was I supposed to do?"

"Not risk being seen or worse, Mama coming in to find you?" Miguel offered with a snort. "Sorcorro always cries when she's overtired, and she'll only calm down if I play to her. She doesn't even like my cousins' playing." When Miguel realized he couldn't hear any crying, he blinked at the implication. Apparently, Sorcorro had broadened her musical taste to her big brother and now, her grandfather.

"I had the feeling I was playing to a tough crowd." Héctor paused, smiling wanly in memory at her. "She's adorable, _chamaco_ , looks just like you."

Miguel went beet-red at that, and Héctor cackled. Any chance to tease this kid! He loved it.

"Look…I have to do my homework, it won't take long." Miguel moved toward his desk, shoving the music sheets aside. He groaned at the thought of the boring work. "And then dinner—no way I can introduce you then, _Abuelita_ might try to put you in a soup pot or worse, try to feed you." Miguel glanced from his arithmetic.

"Can you even eat?"

Héctor shrugged. "Eh, sort of. It's complicated, _hijo_. We can do it, but there's no need. It's more for pleasure."

"Well…anyway. After dinner, all the adults are going out to a friend's house for a game night or something. _Abuelita_ 'll turn in at seven after her radio show like she always does. And she sleeps like the dead so—" Miguel paused. "Uh."

"Just an expression, I get it _gordito_." Héctor waved the kid's worries away with an unconcerned look.

"Is there anyone else?" He asked hopefully, looking for any excuse to meet part of his living family.

"Well, there's the twins, Benny and Manny. They're only three, so they'll be in bed too. Primo Abel's gunna go with the adults, he likes to think he's some hotshot cause he can play poker, but he never wins nothing."

Héctor chuckled in amusement at Miguel's little eye roll.

"Then there's Prima Rosa."

"Your cousin too, _sí_?"

" _Sí_. But she's not even home now, she went right to a friend's house after school." Miguel shrugged. "That's everyone…but we'll all be home tomorrow like usual. What about meeting everyone then? I still haven't really figured out how to introduce you, either…" Hopefully one more night to think on it would yield some idea.

"Eh, I guess, chamaco…" Héctor shrugged absently.

Héctor didn't look pleased with the time extension on the impromptu family reunion. But he'd be lying if he wasn't anxious himself about how he would be received. He wandered over to Miguel's bed and stretched out on it, strumming his guitar as he thought. At worst, he'd be disliked for causing so much family pain and suffering to their parents and relatives. At best, Héctor was worrying that he'd scare them all and someone would run off to get a priest.

There was the odd, slim chance of them liking him, but that…was a long shot. Wasn't it? His leg bounced in agitation. The walls didn't seem to be closing in anymore, as long as he was with someone. Héctor was a pretty social guy, and having Miguel here was plenty to soothe the edges of his frayed nerves. He played a few lazy, wordless songs, seeing the way Miguel's posture relaxed as he scribbled away at his worksheet. Héctor smiled to himself.

He and Camila, they still had it.

But all too soon, Héctor picked up the sounds of the Rivera family being called for dinner. Héctor watched with a glum expression as Miguel left when dinner was called. The bored skeleton spent the remainder of the meal sulking by himself in the boy's room, and only started to perk up when Miguel returned, as he realized what the noises of the adults leaving meant.

"I can hear the others headin' out, kid," Héctor pointed eagerly to the window.

"Yeah?" Miguel shot Héctor a bemused look. "I wanted to practice a new song—but what did you want to do, Papa Héctor?"

Héctor considered this offer, fingers tapping the window sill as his face scrunched in thought. He glanced out at the compound, what little he could see of it. Then it hit him.

"Hey! If your folks aren't home, can't I just take one quick peek at the _ofrenda_ room?" Héctor egged eagerly, even giving his descendant some puppy-dog eyes that Dante would have been proud of. Miguel balked, but it was weak.

"Weelll…" Miguel made the mistake of looking at his grandpa's yearning expression. "I, I guess one look wouldn't hurt. No one could see you with the big doors closed anyway, and Abuelita's room is all the way at the other end of the—"

Sounded like a yes to Héctor!

Héctor crowed excitedly, grabbing Miguel by his hand and tugging him right down the hall. Miguel stumbled behind, unable to stop the laugh at Héctor's eagerness. It was a little bit infectious, if he was going to be honest.

" _Vámonos_ _chamaco_ , get the lead out!" Héctor urged.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" The kid giggled, hurrying to catch up with the skeleton as he skidded to a stop outside the _ofrenda_ room. Héctor halted as if hitting an invisible wall at the threshold, and Miguel noticed Héctor's expression was one of nervous reverence. He thought he saw Héctor's mouth mimic a swallow, but without a throat it was impossible to know for sure. Then Héctor shook himself (Miguel realized it was the same gesture he'd taught him that night,) and slipped into the room, beeling for the table in the far back of it.

" _Ay,_ _Dios mío_ ," Héctor breathed in admiration, looking over the impressive and heartwarming sight.

"This is some _ofrenda_ room, _chamaco_. "Héctor whistled as he studied every bit. "Imelda would be proud."

"Really?" That was actually nice to hear. Mama Imelda was a stern woman, but when she was loving, she was incredibly loving. It just took a bit for her wall to come down, that was all. Miguel had spent less than one night with her, and even he could tell she was even stricter than _Abuelita_ was.

Still, to hear her sing one more time…

Miguel let his thoughts wander, watching the expression of Héctor as the skeleton looked over each and every photo with gusto and love. When he got to his daughter's, his features softened and he gingerly picked up the photo, his bare thumb rubbing the glass lovingly. Giving the dead man some time alone with his emotions, Miguel inched back toward the door. He glanced lazily over the compound, turning when he heard the sound of the door opening. For a moment, he thought the night out had ended ahead of time, and the adults of the family were home early.

"Prima Rosa!" Miguel gasped, freezing in the archway of the _ofrenda_ room as his cousin jerked at the sound of his voice.

"Miguel?" She called when she spotted him, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What are you still doing out here at this hour? You know bedtime is—wait, why are you standing like that?"

"S-standing like what?" Miguel asked, trying to shift his spread out pose to a more…relaxed one. And also one that covered the _ofrenda_ room well enough to hide the six foot tall skeleton in it.

"I'm not standing like anything. W-what are _you_ doing home? Tia Carmen said you were at a sleep over all night."

Miguel noticed the shift in his cousin's attitude. For a brief second, hurt flashed across her features but she schooled them and arched her spine.

"I didn't want to stay. That's all." His cousin sniffed, and her arms tightened possessively on her violin case. Miguel noticed, but his cousin wasn't a very forthcoming person even on good days. She liked acting older than she was, and Miguel found it tiring sometimes. She was only a few years older than him, which made it worse.

" _Ay_ , who's that _chamaco_?" Héctor had the common sense to keep his voiced hushed, but it was too late.

"What was that? Is someone there?" Prima Rosa was one sharp cookie, lots of A's and B's in her schooling. And she certainly recognized a strange voice when she heard it. "Miguel, what's going on—why is a stranger in the _ofrenda_ room?"

Miguel stuttered, but his mind was drawing a blank.

Unfortunately for him, Héctor's was not.

" _Desconocido_! You show a bit'a respect for your elders, _niña_!" Héctor scolded playfully, unable to stop himself. Even worse, he said this as he leaned his towering frame round the archway and above Miguel.

And poor Prima Rosa, whose own high and mighty expression turned to surprise and a touch of horror at the sight of the walking skeleton just _looming_ over her cousin. She shrieked in fright, and immediately took a defensive swing at Héctor with her violin case, as if to save her cousin.

"Prima Rosa—Rosa! _Detener_!" Miguel shot to life, grabbing the case before it took off Héctor's head. If she found him scary like this, then the _last_ thing his cousin would want to see was his head talking by itself when it finally landed!

Héctor gave his own noise of fright and smartly ducked into the _ofrenda_ room, cowering behind his grandson shamelessly as Miguel calmed her down.

"It's okay—it's okay, Prima Rosa, this is—he's family! _This_ is Papa Héctor!" Miguel finally pushed out, causing his cousin to freeze mid swing. Her jaw dropped open, and Héctor peeked slowly out from behind the wall he'd darted behind.

"W-what?" Her combined panting and shock let only that small word out, and Miguel winced. He tried to plaster on a coaxing smile, even as he edged away so she could fully see Héctor for herself.

"Uh-huh…see? He's harmless, I know he looks—I know what he looks like but he's not bad or anything. This is what everyone looks like in the Land of the Dead."

"Miguel—" The girl silenced herself as Héctor started moving. She gaped like a fish as his body clicked and creaked as he collected himself up. The skeleton had his hands out, to show he wasn't a threat in any sense of the word.

The look she gave her cousin was one of disbelief and surprise, but Miguel could see the realization dawning on her face. Mostly, he could see Rosa staring in shock at Héctor's photo on the _ofrenda_ , and then looking back at still tense and waiting skeleton standing before her. Even like this, the similarities were there—mostly in Héctor's eyes. Héctor was dead, but there was a lot of life in his eyes.

" _H-hola_ …Rosa, wasn't it? Ahh…" Héctor's eyes darted to her weapon then to her, smiling sheepishly.

"That's a nice violin case there—do…do you play, _pequeña_?"

Stunned, Rosa nodded shakily. Miguel saw it finally click for the girl, right then and there.

Because _of_ _course_ Héctor would be the only relative to ask about music first and foremost.

* * *

 **Héctor's scene with Sorcorro was planned the same time Part I was finished. A bit of a filler, this chapter, because the next one is another one I've been really wanting to do. I also realized there's a spanner in the works, or at least, my initial estimation of chapters might be a problem. 'Have All the Songs' is a short song…sooo I might run out of lyrics before chapters/plot. In any case, I can simply cycle back through or pick another song but…I dunno. I don't like either option much. But I'll figure it out. Thanks for the wonderful feedback, I've read and cherished every one!**


	6. Part VI

**See the end for author's notes.**

" _I just need one more to get through to you  
I can't take back what I've done wrong…"_

* * *

 **Part VI**

"So…are you _dead_? Or…what?"

"Uh… _mostly_ , sí."

"And you're…our…grandfather."

"Add a few 'greats' in there, but…also sí."

"And you really wrote all those songs? And played that guitar?"

"Its name is Camilla." Miguel added loftily from where he was perched on his bed. He smirked proudly when his cousín shot him a look. She was never a fan of the know-it-all tone being used at her, she much preferred usíng it herself.

Héctor snorted in amusement at Miguel, but nodded back at Prima Rosa. "Sí. I did." He repeated, giving her his best 100 watt smile. See! He wasn't so scary!

"And…why did you come back here?" She finally asked the question the boys knew was coming, but both their expressíon shifted toward embarrassment and sheepishness.

"Search me." Héctor shrugged theatrically, his guitar bobbing behind him. "One minute I was in the Land of the Dead, next, bam! Graveyard."

"You see, Prima Rosa? He's not going to do anything bad…he's just lost." Miguel interrupted, causíng his cousín to round on him.

"Lost!? Lost doesn't being to describe what is going on here—and you aren't the last bit worried Miguel?" Rosa lectured.

"Well, I'm home, amigos. I wouldn't exactly call that _lost_ —" Héctor grumbled over the children's heads as they argued back and forth.

"What is someone finds him? They'd freak!"

"That was sort of what I was trying to avoid until you came home early!" Miguel accused.

"Don't make this out to be my fault, Miguel, you always do that—"

"What? Nuh-uh!"

"Yah-huh! Remember the time when we were six and you broke—"

"Wait, wait _wait_ ," Héctor stopped in, bony hands waving the two fighting cousins apart so they could get some air. "Hold up everyone for _un minuto! Dios mio,_ you two fight like siblings!"

He rubbed his bony forehead, trying to massage the ache that was forming in the center of his skull. Phantom pain from phantom headaches when stressed? Not the best feature the Dead had, but he supposed it could be worse.

"Alright. Miguel." Héctor dragged his hands down his skull. "Here's what we do. Right now, it's just you and Rosa who know, _sí_?"

" _Sí_ , Papa Héctor." Thankfully Sorcorro couldn't talk.

"As much as I don't wanna admit it…you had a point earlier." Héctor nodded at his grandson. "Staying hidden miiight be in everyone's best interest. Especially in mine." Rosa nearly decapitating him with her violin case? Yeah, maybe Miguel was on to something! Next time, it might not be so easy to dodge! And Héctor felt awful he had scared her so bad.

"For now, anyway. I'll lie low."

Miguel looked relieved, but it soon faded when Héctor turned to his cousin.

"And you're going to have to help us, Rosa. Please?"

Rosa spared a glance at her cousin, who looked like he had been sucking on sour candy, before nodding firmly to the skeleton of her grandfather.

"You can count on me, Papa Héctor." She promised, in her best adult tone. Héctor chuckled at her spirit and shook his head fondly. Imelda would be proud.

Still…he glanced swiftly at the violin case she had dropped and kicked into a corner when they entered. Miguel hadn't seen her do it, but Héctor had.

" _Ay, chamaco_ , give us a minute or ten, hm?"

Miguel shot his grandfather a look, and he almost started to protect before he thought better of it. Héctor made a mental note to thank the kid later.

"Fine." Miguel grumbled, shutting the door as he left. Héctor watched the kid leave, and realized what the attitude was about. Was Miguel that unwilling to share his relative? He had never struck the kid as the jealous type, but there seemed a certain air of grumpiness over giving time with him over to his cousin. Héctor made another mental note to tease the boy about it, but for now…his eyes fell on the violin case.

"So…" He started, then realized the look she was giving him. "How are the lessons coming?"

Prima Rosa gave him a confused look, but he pointed to the violin case lying on the floor. She'd dropped it when they'd come into her room, Héctor noticed. And he also noticed she was giving it a very dirty look. Hmm.

"Fine." Rosa said briskly, then paused. When Héctor remained silent and waiting, her shoulders slumped.

"…less fine."

"Not enjoying it, _hija_?" Héctor asked with a worried frown.

"No!" And she rushed to answer so swiftly, he knew it was nothing but honesty now. "No, I _love_ it! It's my favorite instrument I've ever touched! It's just…" she searched her ceiling room with her eyes, hands moving uselessly.

"It just sounds awful when I play!" Her little cry of frustration caught even Héctor off guard.

"Awful? _Ay_ , kid, awful is pretty harsh—"

"But it does." She promised. "My _hermano_ says so—the twins say so. My parents say I'm _okay_ , but they're just being nice. Sorcorro _cries_ when I play for her but when _Miguel_ plays her a song—" She scrunched her nose, like Imelda used to do and Héctor realized it, suddenly.

"Ah…and, I bet Miguel, when he plays my Camilla…" Héctor strolled over to her window casually, and leaned on the sill. "I bet he sounds…pretty _good_ , hmm?"

"More like perfect." Rosa muttered under her breath. Héctor smiled.

"Perfect, _ey_?" Héctor thought about the frightened kid on the stage, and his smile grew fondly.

"He's ten times better than me."

"Than any of you, I bet."

"Yes!" Rosa paused and turned to really look at her grandfather's skeleton, eyes widening as she realized what he was hinting at.

"Hey!"

Héctor held up his hands in apology, but he was grinning still.

"What you're going through is common, kid," Héctor assured her. "All musicians do it. I think, in fact, anyone does it at some point, no matter their passion. Such is human nature, no?"

"And what is that, Papa Héctor?" Rosa asked, hands on her hips as she tried to save face.

" _Hija_ , listen. You're so busy comparing yourself to Miguel you're not letting yourself enjoy it!"

"Enjoy it…?"

" _Sí_! You said it yourself, you love the violin—tell me, what do you love about it? How it looks? How it sounds? The way the bow feels when it glides along the strings, the weird little marks you get under your chin after playing for too long?"

"Well—wait, how do you know all that? Do you—" Héctor couldn't keep the prideful smirk as Rosa's eyes widened. "Do you know how to play—?"

" _Por supuesto_ ," Héctor snapped his overall straps so that twanged against his rib cage cheerfully. "I love my guitar…but I must admit, I love most of the string _familia_. There's a certain…classicalness to it, _sí_?"

"So why didn't you have any others besides your gui—besides Camilla?"

"Ay, _hija_ , you try dragging a bass on the road." He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, earning a little snort of laughter from her.

"Well, I guess that makes sense. I like taking my violin wherever I go. It's not too heavy, and the case is easy to hold. It feels…" She trailed off, lips pursing as she tried to find the words.

"Right?" Héctor supplied with a soft, knowing look.

Rosa's blink of surprise at him told him he had hit the nail on the head.

"You even took it to your _amigo's_ house, huh?" Héctor went on conversationally. Rosa nodded, but her troubled look was flickering back across her eyes.

"I came home early because…" She frowned, her hands fisting at her sides. "Because she made fun of me for it. She said it sounded like a dying owl."

"Ouch," Héctor winced in sympathy. "Everyone's a critic, _chamaco_."

"No—it's not just that, Papa Héctor, my friend was right. Even when I'm playing how my teacher is telling me to, sometimes it does make a sound like—like a dying owl."

"…what does your teacher say?" Héctor asked, brow knitting in thought.

"Nothing." Rosa scoffed, then admitted with a wince. "He's teaching _so_ many of us, and I guess I don't sound as bad as the kids he spends all his time on."

Héctor shrugged. "Perhaps. Why don't you play for me, and I'll see if _I_ notice anything."

"Are…are you sure?" The little girl bit her lip, but she was already glancing at her violin case.

"Sure I'm sure!" Héctor laughed jovially, grabbing the case himself and handing it over to her with a playful bow. "You can come to your _familia_ about anything! It doesn't exclude music, _niñita_. Go on." He urged, sitting on her bed and waiting with an eager, friendly smile.

So Rosa got out her violin. She began playing. Yes, it was stilted, and stuttering, and some notes weren't so much missed as completely avoided…but it wasn't half bad! For just starting out, Héctor was impressed. And he told her so, promising that he wouldn't lie to spare her feelings. On the last passage, he heard, or rather saw, the problem.

The scratchy sound _was_ awful, and Héctor tried not to wince as Rosa showed it to him as she did it again.

"See?" She dropped her bow in frustration, shaking her head. "It always does that, and if I'm even the slightest bit nervous? Worse!"

" _Sí_ , but look, _hija_." Héctor cast around for the mirror in her room, then motioned her to follow him over to it. "Now, do what you did again, but watch your reflection—there!" He extended his arm, showing her what was wrong.

"This is a common error kid! It's nothing to be worried about if you do it, just make sure you correct it. It means your little finger isn't applying enough pressure. So it can't counterbalance the weight of your bow—thus, scratchy sound!" Héctor used his bony pointer finger to show her how to shift the pressure of her hand.

"Like…like this?" Rosa asked, her face scrunched as she concentrated hard, trying to keep track of all her fingers and her arms at once. She soon realized that watching the mirror was a lot easier than hurting her chin by trying to look down at the violin.

" _Sí_! Good girl," Héctor praised. "Try again, _hija_."

He watched eagerly as she raised her violin, slide her bow towards the strings and—

Sighed, dropping the pose with a groan. Héctor frowned, stepping back as she turned and set the violin down with a frustrated noise.

"I can't." Rosa said.

"Why not?"

"Because I just _can't_!" Rosa noticed her tone and ducked her head, trying to keep her temper down. She wasn't frustrated at the skeleton, and he saw that instantly.

"Seems to me…you're a bit scared, _ey_?" He prompted at the risk of her shooting him a glare. She did, but it was followed by a frightened look, as she had been found out. And so easily!

"…it's just not fair."

Well, this wasn't what he was expecting.

"No? What's not fair, _hija_?" But she remained silent.

"Let me tell you a little something, Rosa." Héctor motioned her to sit beside him on her bed, and she did so.

"Miguel had no music teacher, he had only himself and, so I'm told, videos of De La Cruz."

Rosa nodded.

"What he has been doing his whole life is called 'playing by ear.' Did your teacher tell you about that?"

Rosa shook her head this time.

" _Ay_ , I'm not surprised. It's a _profesor's_ bane sometimes," Héctor chuckled. "That's a gift, _si_ , but doesn't make you a great songwriter, or even a great musician. What makes Miguel a great musician is he tries, and when he fails, he tries _again_. It is hard, _hija_. It's terrifying sometimes!" Héctor nodded.

"And you will not be wonderful overnight. Miguel was not. I certainly wasn't. No one is. It's not that simple." He shook his head.

"No…I guess it's not." She had thought about this before, but to hear someone else say it was actually a comfort. Héctor watched the little girl for a moment, before he made up his mind.

"Now, let me see your violin this time, _pequeña_ ," Héctor stood. Still lost in thought, Rosa handed it over.

"Let's see…" He leaned on one hip, turning the instrument over a few times and adjusting his hold on it as it shifted a few strings.

"Hmm…the balance is good, bit different then I remember." He chuckled, "Though, I'm sure violins have at least changed a little bit since I was around, _ey_?"

"Probably…" Rosa answered with a shy smile. It was weird, thinking about how old the skeleton truly was. Though to be honest, having a skeleton in front of her at all was weird enough to keep her thoughts distracted from less…cheerful ones. Like how young this man had been when he had his family, his music, and his life ripped from him by a jealous _amigo_. As envious as she was of her cousin and his musical skill, she couldn't fathom harming him over it! How…how childish!

She realized he was playing the next instant, because all of a sudden her ears were being filled with the most wonderful violin music she had heard. When Rosa leaned around the tall skeleton to see in the mirror, she realized his eyes were closed. Not only was he not watching himself, but he was clearly playing from memory. It wasn't a song she had heard before, but then she reminded herself she had spent most of her young life not hearing any music at all.

The violin crooned under Héctor's control, sending ripples of emotion outward from the center, making her heart feel like it was flying in time with the violin's singing.

When he stopped, Rosa wished instantly he hadn't. But she caught his expression before he schooled it, and turned to give her a gentle smile.

"I was playing for many years, _hija_. It isn't easy, no, but all the good things never are."

Rosa nodded, realizing he hadn't been playing to show off, or even to teach her. She wondered, idly, if he had played to see if he even remembered. Well, he certainly did!

"Would you play again for me, _querida_?" Héctor asked her softly as he held out her violin. And then, the budding musician understood. He had played for her first, hoping to ease the pressure off her. Somehow, it worked.

Rosa nodded meekly, feeling a bit self-conscious but not as much as she expected.

All this time, lost in her thoughts, Rosa didn't realize she was just…standing there after Héctor had given her violin back. Bow raised but arm still and violin mute. Héctor did notice, and he tilted his skull softly down, searching her face with his sharp, inquisitive gaze. She looked back at him, looking like a lost little girl and swallowed nervously.

"Why do you hesitate?" Héctor asked quietly in the silent room. He tilted his head questioningly as Rosa set down the violin.

"It's just…what if I really am no good at playing this thing? That it wasn't what you said?" Rosa asked, turning her worried gaze up at the skeleton. "W-what if…what if I can't do anything with it and I never make—"

" _Ay_ , Rosa," Héctor soothed, interrupting her before she could begin to panic. "You have your family here to guide you. You're a Rivera. And a Rivera is…?"

"…a shoemaker through and through?" Rosa filled in with a dull guess, but Héctor blinked and laughed. Her reply was so automatic, it must have been hammered into her at a young age! Unlike Miguel, it seemed to have gotten hold of her, though.

"Hah! A Rivera is whatever _they_ want to be, if you ask me." Héctor grinned at her surprised and hopeful look.

"And if you are doing what makes you happy, then your _familia_ will be happy too! Now," he coaxed, motioning with his hands for her to go on.

"Try again, _hija_." He ushered softly with an eager nod. "Play something. Anything! I _know_ you can do it."

And somehow, Héctor's voice and expression were both so earnest and affectionate, that Rosa felt he was right. She really could do this.

She raised her bow to the strings, straightened her back, inhaled deeply…and began to play.

But at this same moment, something somewhere stirred. It was old.

The face turned to stare at the swollen moon, same as the one Héctor had gazed upon a day ago.

When the creature exhaled, he exhaled ash.

* * *

 **Sooo while we don't see Héctor play a violin in the movie, I just sort of…slipped a headcanon in there? (When I learned to play guitar, I learned piano too so I could keep my mom's guitar tuned.) So in this story, for those keeping track, Héctor can play his guitar, the piano, the violin and has basic knowledge of other string instruments but not enough to play them from muscle memory. It's clear already he's got excellent song-writing skills, whereas Miguel would have learned to play by ear and studying De La Cruz. I think I've got a set of rails for this story finally, solving the mystery of the Sudden Skeleton and addressing a few things I wished the movie had addressed. Stay tuned!**


	7. Part VII

**See the end for author's notes.**

" _Have all the songs been written?  
Have all the truths been told?"_

* * *

 **Part VII**

"It's getting late, _niños_ ," Héctor's tone was firm but his eyes were playful.

"Shouldn't you two be asleep by now? On a school night, as well?" Hector tsked. Miguel quickly rushed to the defense of just a few more minutes. He preyed on Hector's weakness for storytelling too, the little imp! Hector would be proud if he wasn't so amused.

"But—Papa Héctor, can't we hear more stories? Please? Just one! One of your letters said you rode a train—a real one! And it was headed to the West and—"

"Forget about some old train, I want to hear what it was like on the ship you were on! You didn't _really_ have to serenade a giant squid to pass by, did you?" Rosa asked, giving him a studious stare, her nose scrunched like Oscar used to do…when he had a nose, anyway..

Héctor couldn't help it, he threw back his head and laughed.

"One atta'time, _chamacos_!" He chuckled, then pointed at Miguel. "It was pretty _asombroso_ , aye. And…no." Now his attention was on Rose.

"That was a lie. I apologize for that. You gotta remember _niña_ , Coco was a little girl when I wrote those to her. I liked spicing up my letters so she was proud of her father." He hesitated, feeling his good mood dampen.

"Though…I guess, the best way to do _that_ would have been to stay in the first place, _aye_?" Héctor rubbed the back of his spinal column in a sheepish manner.

The two children stared softly at their elder. Rosa nodded, but it was halfhearted and Miguel simply watched his grandfather. It was interesting, to see an elder correct himself—to see him vocalize a mistake. That he too, was human. Héctor had a lot of life left in him—it was intoxicating, even if it was sometimes depressing when his past caught up to you.

Héctor jerked to life, then gave himself that familiar, distracting shake.

"Well! You two, nice try!" He teased, "But I meant it. If I left you two stay up any later, your Mama Imelda would come for me herself!"

"She would," Miguel whispered conspiratorially to his cousin, who actually giggled as she stood.

"Good night, Papa Héctor." She told him in her sweetest, kiss-up tone as Miguel called it. Héctor, however, ate it up. He even opened his arms in case she wanted a hug. Rosa hesitated, before walking timidly in and letting the skeleton man hug her carefully too. It was a weird sensation! She saw how comfortable Miguel was around Héctor, but she still needed to get used to the feeling of…bones. Cold bones, at that.

" _Buenos noches, niña."_ Héctor's voice was warm, even if his frame wasn't. "Hey, remember what we talked about. I can't wait to hear you play for me again."

Rosa beamed at him for that, bid her cousin good night and quickly scooted out the door.

"What'ja talk about, Papa Héctor?" Miguel poked curiously as he pulled off his boots and let them flop to the floor with twin thuds. Héctor weighed his options, then a slow smirk tugged at his skull.

"Oh, we talked about how she was going to win the science fair by experimenting on her little cousin." He flashed his teeth when Miguel caught on and promptly spluttered as he fumbled for his night clothes.

"N-not funny, Papa," Miguel chided, making Héctor laugh again.

"Brush yer teeth, comb yer hair, then get to bed, _mijo_." Héctor instructed, putting enough inflection in his words that not even Miguel argued again. Héctor wondered if it was because Miguel had another plan brewing—and he was right. Part of the skeleton was worried that Miguel was so crafty—the other part of him mused that he had gotten that trait from Héctor himself likely, and that certainly served Héctor right! Karma, Imelda would call it with that coy smirk she always shot him when she teasing him.

Miguel had just drawn the covers up to his chin when he put his plan into motion.

"…Papa Héctor?"

Héctor, who was sitting at the kids desk trying to make some semblance of Miguel's arithmetic's, gave a noise of attention.

" _Sí, chamaco…"_

"Do you—do you think…that, well, maybe you could…I mean if its not _too_ much trouble, _por supresto_ , I was thinking that, since you're _here-here_ and all…"

"Kid, you better ask what yer gunna ask before I roll over in my grave." Héctor paused, then smiled wanly. "Figuratively speaking, that is."

" _Wouldyousingtome?"_ Came out all in one rush, even making Héctor pause to translate. He followed Miguel's wide, hopeful stare down to his guitar and he put the puzzle pieces together swiftly. Héctor softened, nodding immediately.

" _Sí_ , Miguel. I will sing to you." The skeleton agreed softly, bending to grab the instrument.

"Any requests?" He says the same words he said to a friend a few months ago, god rest his soul.

Miguel smiled, recognizing the words for what they were. He considered his options, then shook his head.

"No requests. Just…anything." The young boy breathed, rolling onto his side to watch the musician play.

"Even that song…?" Héctor trailed off, giving his grandson a meaningful look, gauging his reaction. Miguel looked torn, the expression plain as the nose on his face. Finally he shook his head.

"…not that one. You said you didn't make it for the world. You made it for Coco." Miguel parroted the words softly.

Héctor nodded, but when his fingers danced across the strings, yet they still were the first few notes of an achingly familiar song. Playing the first few chords of the song on Camila made his bones pulse, but in a good way.

"I _did_ write it for Coco. I wrote it for my daughter…but I will sing it for my grandson, as well, Miguel." Héctor explained as the intro of the song gave way to the refrain.

" _Remember me…though I have to say goodbye…remember me…don't let it make you cry…"_

His words were low, his notes were lulling, and the day had been long. Miguel was asleep by the time Héctor made it to the second verse.

With a faint smile, Héctor paused only to draw the blanket over Miguel's shoulders better. Then he laid Camila gently by the boy's nightstand, and slipped out the door. The dead can walk silently, when they have the mind to.

* * *

" _Dios mio_ , Imelda…" Héctor let out a wonton sigh, slouching into his own arms as he stood. "What am I going to do? I'm lost _chica_ , in more ways than one."

Imelda was silent.

Of course, she would be, seeing as she was merely a photo and all. Héctor still smiled at the young woman in the photo, so serious, so strong and courageous. One of his biggest regrets was not carrying this photo with him on the road, but he comforts himself with the fact that having a copy made would have likely broken the bank. The photo was a gift anyway, from Imelda's parents. They loved Héctor, they took a shine to him and when they died of their illness Héctor had written them a song. He had played it for Imelda, once and only once. It was his goodbye to them. The photo was their goodbye to their daughter. Had they been alive, Héctor wondered often what would have happened. Her father might have tried to find him, her mother would have assured Imelda that Héctor hadn't come back not because he didn't too—but because he _couldn't._

After the young woman of nineteen lost her parents, she had taken to Héctor like a cat to a warm spot on the fireplace. Her occasional notice of him had turned into something richer and deeper, a strong friendship Héctor had never known before. When he had been there for her, Imelda had never forgotten it. Every night she was following him, supporting his desires to play for crowds in their small little town.

With surprisingly clarity, Héctor did what he had done earlier that day in the doorway of his granddaughter's room. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and _he remembered_ —

" _You scoff at this man without knowing him!" Imelda, young and with spitfire in her eyes and a forked tongue, lashed out with a jerk of her arm._

" _He sings here every night, he tries and tries, and I see none of you appreciate him!" She scolded. "Then when he_ _stops_ _playing, you tell him he is a poor excuse for a musician?! I would stop too, if no one stopped to listen to me." She spit at their feet, making several grown men flinch as if the devil himself had waggled an eyebrow at them._

 _The crowd of men in the bar shrunk back, looking guilty into their beer, or at the walls, anywhere but the young lady's offended gaze. Their previous catcalls and teasing had only been the poorly placed words of tipsy men, but in truth, some of the comments were more than a little rude. Imelda had her last nerve struck when one of them asked if Héctor was finally 'going to get a real job, and stop living in the clouds.' The musician in question behind her, hunched over and holding sheets of torn, hastily written music notes swallowed nervously. Well…this had gone…dandy. The worst night yet, only a few dineros to show for it. He would have to work for Imelda's papa again to earn his bed in the hayloft of their barn._

" _I-Imelda, come now," He had tried to hush the young woman, but she turned and gave him a look._

" _I will not stand by while these tone-deaf payasos ridicule every night you come here!" Imelda protested, but she finally hesitated at the raw look in his eyes. Seeing she had made her point—and perhaps nearly gone too far—the woman pursed her lips and nodded._

" _Thank you." He breathed at her softly, so only she could hear. Imelda's shoulders relaxed, and as she blinked her eyes softened. Suddenly she was…gooey, downright loving now, when she addressed her boyfriend._

" _Mi poor sol," Imelda purred, turning her back on the chastised men and taking his arm. They would mutter amongst themselves—that Imelda? A firecat, wasn't she! And how did Héctor, Santa Cecilia's musician who couldn't even get on stage without messing up, ever win her hand like he did?—Perhaps some of their mocking was jealously; perhaps liquor simply loosened their tongues too much. Regardless, Héctor ignored his naysayers._

 _Imelda was the one who would not._

" _We will leave now, yes? We will go home, and you will play for me and I will sing for luz de mis ojos, yes? And then sleep, and tomorrow things will be better." She told him, in her no-nonsense voice. Héctor didn't retort, he tucked his songbook away into his vest, sighing as he left the guitar he borrowed from the bar owner behind. He gave it a longing look, one Imelda saw and had to hide her secret smile._

" _Yes, Imelda." Héctor felt a little whisked along, but he knows Imelda's actions come from a place of affection, rather than a desire to control. He appreciates it. More specifically, it's a comforting quality she has. Imelda babies those she loves, and enjoyed knowing she was appreciated right back._

 _Someday, he will mourn the loss of her warmth. Someday, she will turn him away as she did when she was alive a few times. When before it was the down on his luck musician, it was countless suitors who thought that to love Imelda was to command her, to tell her what to do without discussion. Héctor would be the first one to come and ask her, on bended knee, to the tune of a soft serenade._

 _He would make her laugh, he would want her opinion, want to hear her sing to him. And then one day, she would want nothing to do with him. If anyone ever asks you if a heart can be broken twice, then think of Héctor, and say yes._

 _Once when he woke up dead, and twice when one of the only souls he had left in the world scorned him._

The memory ended, Héctor's thoughts coming back to the present. So many years…

"Yet you never changed, _mi amor._ " The skeleton touched her photo on the _ofrenda_ lovingly. "It was _me_ who changed." He groaned, shrugging haplessly.

"I'm grateful I am here, even if I don't know _why_. I want to _know_ my family." He spoke, as if he was begging Imelda to stay longer in the Land of the Living. In some ways, maybe he was.

"But I know I can't." Héctor sighed, drawing back from the wonderful offering table and glancing mournfully out into the night. He felt…lost.

"How do I get back to you? To Coco," Héctor moaned, holding his skull as he heaved a heavy sigh. His ribs flexed on instinct, but that was it. He wouldn't feel so awful if he was covered in flesh and looked human. But looking like this, well…

He needed some air. Or, something like that.

The night was cool and dark, when Héctor slipped out of the wide doors to the shoemaker's enclosure. He hesitated, looking south and then looking north, before heading west. The moon was still swollen but losing her edge—he had plenty of darkness to roam. His eyes didn't understand 'adjusting to light' anymore, and he saw with solid clarity. His shoes—courtesy of one scolding woman back home—muffled his footsteps. It was likely he would hear and see anyone coming before they could see or hear him.

It was hard to explain why he was doing what he was doing. He hesitated once, staring at the little cobbled together display of his letters and his notes to Coco, before hurrying on his way. Santa Cecilia was…bigger now. Not overwhelmingly so, but enough that it took him a moment to get his bearings. He stopped outside the _taberna_ , squinting at it quietly. The building was the same—a little saggy, if truth be told—and it had a new paint job. But he liked the paint job, he liked the sign, and he liked the memories it brought back to him.

Héctor did not go in though.

Mostly because he was distantly aware of the softest of meows coming from down his anklebone. He twisted in surprise, bending over to see the little gray tabby, with high stocking hind legs and a familiar twinkle in her eye.

"Pepita," Héctor almost forgot to keep his voice down he was so relieved. " _Aye_ , did your _niña_ send you to help me? We both know I'm always off getting into something I shouldn't somewhere."

The little cat mewed up at him, her tail high like a sail as she wound around the skeleton's legs.

"Well, you didn't have to agree with me," Héctor chuckled softly, bending down to pick her up. But Pepita raced from his reach, trotting off toward the road that Héctor knew would eventually lead him to the cemetery. She turned at the top of the hill and looked back, with all the expectancy an animal can muster.

He hesitated, wondering if perhaps Pepita knew some way of getting back that he didn't.

He also knew that, while he had just asked Imelda's photo on the _ofrenda_ this exact thing, he didn't want to leave so soon.

 _Especially_ not without saying goodbye to Miguel…

Pepita meowed again, this time louder. Héctor shushed the _alebrije_ in disguise and hurried after her. Lest she wake some poor unlucky soul up and they died of fright at seeing the living dead man!

Héctor paused only once more, before slinking off toward the cemetery after Imelda's spirit guide.

Something…something was _happening_. He could feel it, right down to the marrow of his old, taped together bones.

When Héctor saw the fist tendrils smoke rising from the behind the cemeteries stone walls, he knew with a sinking feeling that he was right.

He really, really hated being right.

* * *

 **I see Imelda—as her spirit guide suggests—being incredibly catlike. Imelda is certainly not mean—unless provoked!—but she would put Héctor before others. It's likely a strong way she shows her affection for people. In the movie she was protective and desperate to save Miguel—to the point she broke her centuries old rule and sang for him, so it seemed likely she would NOT let Héctor's more caustic critics get to him. Many of her terms of endearment for Héctor relate to light or sun—Héctor brought music to her life, and brightened it. At least, he did until he left…**


End file.
